


A Phantom Pain in the Ass

by PomegranatePomsom



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Junkrat is a Little Shit, M/M, Not Beta Read, Phantom Limb Pain, Questionably In-Character, Rated T for swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PomegranatePomsom/pseuds/PomegranatePomsom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkrat gets some pains. Junkrat gets some help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Phantom Pain in the Ass

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to STAR_ (Ster) and Jerma985, whose streaming of this game got me hook, line, and sinker.
> 
> Wanted to see if I could write a fic under 3k and still make it decent. Here's hoping I succeeded.
> 
> \--
> 
> EDIT (June 08, 2016): Thank you so much for over 230 Kudos and 2200 views! Not to mention all the lovely comments! It really means the world to me!

It’s some godforsaken hour in the morning when the pitter-patter of feet disturbs the silence of their tiny flat. Half-awake, Mako grunts and kneads the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t get up right away (no sense in doing so if he doesn’t have to); instead, he listens. The steps are uneven and frantic—first comes the heavy _slap_ of flesh on wood, followed shortly by a small bang. This repeats in cycles and Roadhog knows for sure that it’s just Jamison prancing about.

But the rhythm is off, even more erratic than usual. He hears groans and the occasional throaty whine; something is off. He sits up and looks to the bathroom down the hall; he squints and can make out Junkrat’s silhouette standing in the bright light.

“Go back to bed,” Jamison says, voice shaking. The creaking of Mako’s mattress must have alerted him.

“How am I supposed to sleep with you making all that noise?”

He gets a low, frustrated growl in reply. Roadhog swings his legs over the side of his bed and stands, stretching for a moment. He begins to approach, lethargically, when the younger man shouts at him, “I said ‘Go back to bed’!”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Jamison practically spits back, returning his attention to the medicine cabinet.

Mako ignores him; he’s lived with Junkrat long enough to pick up on his body language and know when he’s even more off balance than usual. As he gets closer, he notices that the other seems to have removed his prosthetic lower leg and clung, instead, to a homemade crutch for balance.

He’s running his fingers down the front of various bottles, eyes frantically darting across the labels. He picks one from a shelf and turns it in his palm, assessing the directions and suggested uses of the meds inside. Deeming it ineffectual, he tosses it over his head, smacking Mako in the chin. Roadhog catches the bottle, places it neatly on the sink.

“Are you going to stop being a child and just tell me? Why aren’t you wearing your leg—were you cleaning it?”

Jamison tugs on his hair and turns on the ball of his foot, glaring up at his cohort. “No! No, no, no!”

He’s trying to use his volume to be big, but Roadhog is always bigger, and lets it show in his tone. “Then _what_ , Jamie? _”_

Junkrat curls his hand into a fist, biting his knuckles for a moment. He glances down, and when the bigger man follows, he sees that his companion’s knees are shaking.

“I can _feel_ it tonight,” he confides. Before Mako has to ask “What?” for the umpteenth time, he adds, “I can feel m’ leg. Hurts like a sonuvagun! ‘F I don’t put somethin’ in me _right now_ , I’ll go batty!”

This again? Mako sighs. “You know that won’t work.”

“You got a better idea?”

Roadhog thinks for a moment. “Yes, actually.”

He leaves his compatriot’s side to turn on the lights in their shared room. He then returns to his bed, leaning his back against the wall and prompting Jamison to join him. The younger fellow complies, reluctantly; he hobbles over and flops onto the mattress, shimmying and twisting like a hooked worm until he’s upright and occupying the space between Mako’s legs.

Roadhog places his hands upon Junkrat’s shoulders, leaning him rearwards until back met belly. “Relax.”

“Bloody hard to do when I’m feelin’ like me leg’s on fire!” His face is twisted up in both pain and frustration. Jamison’s nails dug into the skin just above his stump of a knee, scratching and leaving angry red marks. Mako plucks his hand away by the wrist.

“Stop that.”

Junkrat is twitchy and fidgety, wild and impatient. Most people would honestly have an easier time calming a swarm of Japanese hornets than trying to get this spitfire settled down. But Mako can put his arm around the little man’s middle and it calms him like a spell. It’s a small show of just how accustomed they’d become of each other over their brief years together. Jamison twines his digits together with the thick ones at his belly, and Roadhog knows he’s got him.

Large, calloused fingers are placed against Jamison’s bum limb and gently pressed in. Junkrat’s breath hitches for a moment and Mako stops momentarily, returning a second later to test the waters. The smaller man doesn’t flinch this time, so he continues.

He rubs circles in the flesh, occasionally stopping to run his hand up the length of the leg. It takes more than a few minutes of caressing, but Jamison’s pained shaking eventually begins to slow.

At this point, Roadhog speaks up. “How’s it feel now?”

“Better,” the young man says. His brows are knitted. “Where’d you learn to do this? Never did it before.”

“Dr. Ziegler told me.”

“Oh. Her.” He doesn’t sound happy about that one bit.

“Yes, her. This happened when we all first came together, do you remember? I told her I was concerned about you-“

“You ain’t my babysitter, Mako!”

Roadhog growls under his breath. “No, but you did _hire_ me to _protect_ you, didn’t you? I think making sure you’re not in pain falls under bodyguard duties.

“As I was _saying_ , I was worried—because worrying about you is my _job_. So I spoke with her. She was supposed to help you, but you were too good for what she had in mind, apparently.”

“I don’t see how puttin’ my leg in a box is gonna make me better!”

“That’s why you’re not the doctor.”

The both of them go quiet again for a time, Mako continuing to massage the flesh. “So I asked her what I could do,” he mutters. “There’s a couple of dummies in a room behind one of the medical facilities. She gets them out and shows me how to do this. It’s pretty hard to do on the dummies, since they’re even smaller than your scrawny ass. But I managed.”

Junkrat snickers, a hardy little giggle; it’s a good sign. “I’m tryna imagine you fumblin’ over these tiny dolls—were they the ones with the big- the big, open mouths?”

“For CPR? I think so.”

The younger man howls, throwing his head back against Mako’s chest and laughing up at him. He pounds a fist against Roadhog’s leg and his chest shakes with guffaws. Mako doesn’t really get it, but apparently the image is hilarious.

Jamison catches his breath and settles back into place. He seems rather content and bubbly, as if he hadn’t just been shuddering in pain less than an hour ago. “You’re a life-saver, Mako.”

“Well, I don’t get half just by being pretty.”

“Oh, but you’re _plenty_ pretty.” The older man pretends to be surprised by the comment, just as he’d done with all of his partner’s other flirtatious passes. He’ll open his eyes a touch wider than usual and Jamison will give him this cocky, satisfied smile—like he’s won some bet. It’s pretty cute.

“All right, all right, that’s enough. ‘M fine, ‘m okay.” Antsy, Junkrat pats the hand on his leg, which is promptly relinquished. He gets up on his good knee as best he can, wrapping his arms around the other man’s neck and using him for leverage. He’s moving in closer, about to go in for the kill; against his better judgement, Mako lets it happen.

It was surprisingly tender—Junkrat didn’t push too hard, and Roadhog made the effort to resist using his teeth. Mako lets his partner’s fingers splay across his shoulders and grip the muscles there. It’s short-lived, however; as soon as those hands move down to his chest and tongue slides into his mouth, he moves back. Jamison looks satisfied, regardless.

“If you’re well enough to pull that crap, you’re well enough to get back to sleep,” Mako concludes. He expects complaints, excuses as he moves to grab the crutch leaning against the wall. But that little rat just _grins_ at him and takes it. He hops over to the hammock hanging from the ceiling, throwing himself into it and curling into a ball. Tiny and safe.

After the lights are out Roadhog watches him for a while, listening. He waits for signs of stirring, for Jamison to shoot up and shriek and clamor for relief. And he keeps waiting until well in the night, when Junkrat’s breathing finally slows and he no longer tosses or turns.

As he too drifts off, Mako has a thought. It’s selfish, but he finds himself looking forward to the next pains.

It doesn’t bother him. He never had problems being selfish before.


End file.
